


Hiding His Head in a Hole

by blue_jack



Category: Star Trek RPF
Genre: Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-08-06
Updated: 2010-08-06
Packaged: 2017-11-16 01:16:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,711
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/533878
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blue_jack/pseuds/blue_jack
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He doesn’t tell him to stop, even though he knows he should.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hiding His Head in a Hole

He doesn’t tell him to stop, even though he knows he should. He's drunk, Chris is drunk, they're both drunk. _Not a good idea, not a good idea, not a good idea, not at all._ But, oh, fuck, he doesn’t care, not now, not when Chris is sucking on his jaw, has his fingers wrapped around Zach's hips like he's laying claim.

The thought makes Zach shudder, because he wants it, he wants Chris to be possessive, wants him to leave a mark that screams _he's taken, he's mine_ , wants to be his so much that he doesn't say a word when Chris slides his hand in Zach's too-tight jeans, makes the denim dig into his stomach as Chris' fingers work down until they're cupping his ass through his boxers and one of Chris' fingers is so close that it's all Zach can do to not squirm and move his hips until the finger is right over his hole.

Not that he cares what they do, if Chris fucks him or he fucks Chris, although he definitely hopes someone gets to fuck someone. All he wants is for Chris to be _closer_ , to touch him, to fucking consume him, and maybe that'll be enough, it has to be because he doesn't need to be told that he's only getting this one night.

And then Chris' mouth moves lower at the same time as his finger, and Zach gasps, tilts his head back as Chris begins to rub little circles against him through the silky material, and he's spreading his legs, his cock pinched unbearably against his abdomen, and that just, fuck, that just makes it _better_.

His hands slide through Chris' hair, pull his face up so Zach can kiss him, can tongue-fuck him while Chris moans and pushes his finger into him just the tiniest bit. And that—that is the world's worst fucking wedgie _ever_ , but _oh_ , he opens his mouth although no sound comes out, twitching as Chris laps at his bottom lip, as Chris' finger moves side to side, teasing and burning. It's not comfortable, not in the slightest, but fuck, Zach is so turned on, is just about humping Chris' thigh, hot and solid between his legs, and he wants Chris to push even deeper, wants him to—

Zach whimpers when Chris steps back, shit, not yet, not _yet_ , and he grabs Chris' shirt, follows—nearly stumbles as Chris pushes further into him, and _thank fuck_ , he's obviously not planning to go anywhere just yet.

Chris knows the layout of Zach’s house just as well as he does by this point, and they make their way to his room in slow, staggered steps, and Zach moans—he's not the only one—when Chris finally tugs his hand free completely. Zach’s cock pulses at the sudden freedom, although his jeans are still on, and it took him almost five minutes to wriggle into those things in the first place, they’re so tight, so it's all relative.

It's only after he's flung off his shirt and Chris is staring at his hairy chest—ohhh yeah. Damn it, if he'd known he was going to have sex with Chris, he would've fucking waxed it all off—that the doubts start really crowding in. This is wrong, it's wrong, this is so wrong, and shit, he doesn't have boobs, is vaguely kind of intimidated by them, they're so . . . and he has chest hair, lots of it, and okay, not something Chris is probably used to. He should've kept his shirt on, is _definitely_ not showing Chris his cock, and he—

He's not going to get another chance. This is his only chance.

Zach climbs onto the bed, doesn't try to say anything, which is smart of him because he's not sure he can talk past the boulder in his throat, undoes his jeans and shoves them down just past his ass which is not hairy, thank heaven—not too much anyway, and _finally,_ no more wedgie—grabs his pillow, wraps his arms around it as he lies on the bed, ass in the air, and just waits.

It's agonizing. His breathing was already fast, but it's just getting faster and faster, and he doesn't know what Chris is thinking—although he can probably guess—and there's a fucking horrible possibility that Chris is just going to walk out that door—

Zach moans quietly, faint with relief as the bed dips.

Chris' touch is tentative as his hand strokes Zach back, up and down, rounds the curve of his ass and the starts all over again. But it gets surer with each pass, lingers on Zach's ass until both hands are massaging him, dipping between the cheeks curiously until Zach is pushing his hips out to meet those faint brushes.

"Where do you keep the lube?"

Zach stiffens at the flare of jealousy, because of course Chris knows the mechanics of anal sex, not that much different for a guy than a girl, Chris has probably done all sorts of shit in bed, threesomes and hell, daisy chains, and, and, and Zach should probably be glad that he's adventurous enough to try it out with a guy once, even if alcohol is easing the way, but still he . . . he wishes that . . .

He lets one arm uncurl from the pillow and points at his nightstand, doesn't say anything because he doesn't want to ruin the mood even further—the mood that involves Chris pretending really, really hard that he's a girl—and Chris understands, moves away, and Zach hears the drawer opening and closing, hears the rustle of clothes as they hit the ground—he wants to look, he wants to look bad—and then Chris is back, ready for business.

Zach can't stop the moan although he tries to bury it in his pillow. It's just . . . he's wanted this for so long, so fucking long, and the feel of Chris' finger gliding inside of him . . . he hopes Chris is too drunk to use much lube. He wants to feel this, he wants to remember it, every second, every detail. He wants it to hurt, so that it might hurt less later.

But Chris is apparently a thoughtful drunk tonight, even though he's kind of a jackass when he's wasted most of the time, a funny jackass, sure, but a jackass nonetheless. Everything is slick and easy, two fingers, three, although Zach doesn't even need three, he's so ready, and it's just exquisite torture to have Chris inside of him, making promises with each twist and plunge that Zach has to remind himself is just for now and not later.

By the time Chris lines himself up and _pushes_ with his hips, Zach's just about entering masochistic territory, he's biting his lip so hard, and maybe that's the right way to describe it, describe all of it, but _ohhhhh_. Chris is all the way in.

Zach clenches down as hard as he can, not because there's any freeze-up, there's not, it's just pleasure, perfect and perfect and perfect, but he needs Chris to hold still for a moment, needs to fully absorb the reality of what's happening because Chris is _inside_ of him, there's nothing better than this, there's nothing worse than this, and this is going to ruin him, is going to fucking destroy him, and he needs to brand the memory of this onto his brain as some kind of compensation.

"Are you okay?"

And Zach does moan then, although it's more from misery than from pleasure. Chris isn’t supposed to be considerate, isn’t supposed to treat this as anything other than a sordid one-night stand. He doesn’t want to remember gentleness, just wants to feel, wants it to be dirty and demeaning—

But Chris takes the moan as permission, starts thrusting slowly but surely, not at all clumsy or afraid, and Zach mashes his face into his pillow, closes his eyes tightly as he shivers, is jealous of all the people that have come before, and there had to have been lots, because Chris is good at this. He’s really, really good at this.

Not that it's the best sex Zach’s ever had, although hell, maybe it is, how's he supposed to remember when Chris is grinding against his ass, making his cock throb pathetically, trapped as it is in his jeans. How's he supposed to think when those hands, strong and nimble, go from holding his hips to his waist to his sides and questing fingers creep around to pluck at his nipples, like Chris is figuring out just how different they are from the ones he typically sees on his bed partners.

And yeah, Zach could give him a few pointers on how to find a guy’s prostate, would love if Chris would hit his a little more frequently, but he’s also kind of happy that Chris _doesn’t_ know, because Zach is his first, will always be his first—and hell, probably his last—and truthfully, he almost doesn’t need it anyway. He might be able to come from this alone, and if not? Well, jerking himself off while he’s still open and wet from Chris fucking him? Yeah, that’s not going to be a hardship.

Chris finally stops playing with his nipples, and that makes Zach sigh because he was rather enjoying himself and Chris is no longer draped across his back, is upright again, and Zach feels chilled at the loss, which makes no sense considering he’s sweating and hot, and he should really be feeling grateful to not have to support Chris’ weight anymore, but grateful is not the word he’d choose.

But once Chris settles into a faster rhythm, bouncing Zach’s ass off his hips like some kind of carnival ride, fucking hell, Zach forgets about the loss and goes with it, grunts into his pillow, can’t stop himself, and finally has to roll up onto his forehead because he’s getting dizzy from lack of air and there’s no damn way he’s going to let himself pass out and miss even a second of this.

Zach’s cock is practically begging him to let it out. He’s so hard, it actually aches to be trapped the way it is, nearly raw from getting rubbed against the denim for so long, but he just grits his teeth and ignores it as best he can. He’s not going to interrupt things by basically pointing a neon arrow at his dick and shouting _look, you’re having sex with a man!_

Besides, it doesn’t look like he’s going to have to wait much longer. Chris is moving with intent now, slamming into Zach with bruising thrusts that have him making these guttural, helpless noises like it’s too much for him, it’s so amazing. And shit, that’s kind of embarrassing, and if he weren’t so fucking turned on, he’d do something about that, he would, but for now, it’s just one more humiliation to pile on top of the _good but so very bad idea_ that is tonight.

And then Chris does something that makes Zach freeze, kind of rips his heart in two; he fumbles underneath Zach’s stomach until he finally locates Zach’s cock, the poor thing, and timidly places his hand on it, like it’s going to attack him—which isn’t really a worry since Chris’ cock is firmly _in Zach’s ass._ And Zach can just hear the gears turning in Chris’ head right before he starts tugging at Zach’s jeans, but it’s impossible to get them off without stopping everything, although Chris tries—not that Zach is helping, still shocked stupid—so Chris just squeezes him through his jeans, softly at first and then harder, jacks Zach off as Chris fucks him, and Zach starts shivering, starts coming apart.

And Zach wants to complain, wants to call _cheater_ , because Chris is touching his dick _but not really touching his dick_ , and because . . . because Chris isn’t pretending, knows he’s with a man, and how is Zach going to survive tonight if he has to remember that Chris knew he was sleeping with a guy? With Zach.

But then his body takes the decision away from him, and Zach moans, undignified and loud, fingers digging into the pillow as his cock spasms, pleasure exploding low in his gut and spreading outward until he’s shaking, until his fingers, his toes, even his fucking head feels tingly, until he drenches his jeans with come under Chris’ relentless hand and just collapses onto the bed as Chris races to his own finish, hot and hard between Zach’s spread legs.

\-----

Zach has no clue what time it is when he wakes up, although it’s still dark outside, and fuck, he’s blind. He blinks over and over again, his contacts feeling like plastic film on his eyes. Fuck it. He takes them out and puts them on his nightstand to possibly save in the morning or not.

He looks around and isn’t surprised to find he’s alone. Didn’t see that coming. But it still hurts.

He nearly screams when the bathroom door opens—stops it just in time, but his heart is going a mile a minute now—and Chris stands in the light doorway, looking like a deer caught in headlights as he stares at Zach, all tense and unnaturally quiet. He’s wearing only his boxers, and shit, Zach didn’t really need anything _else_ to remember.

But the time for brooding in the dark alone and with ice cream is later, and Zach smiles confidently, like it's easy for him, like he's not waiting for the big freak out and for Chris to rush out the door like the hounds of hell are chasing him. He knew what he was getting himself into last night. He knew this would break them.

But Chris peers at him before smiling hesitantly back, and his shoulders are still stiff, but they're not next to his ears anymore, and Zach is willing to take whatever he can get, sadly, because he doesn’t _want_ this to cost him Chris’ friendship, but he couldn’t go on pretending—

"I should—I should probably get going."

Zach nods his head, knows he needs to get the fuck out of the damn bed, but he just needs a second, one second, and then he'll be able to do this, he'll be—he’ll be okay, he will.

“Yeah,” he croaks, which just makes him wince, which makes the whole thing that much more depressing really.

"Or . . . I mean, would you mind . . . I could stay? You know, maybe?"

It's a question. Which means Chris is waiting for a response. Zach really needs to respond. Like right now. _Right now_. "I would . . . love for you to stay." And he can feel his cheeks getting hot, because that is not what he planned on saying, that's not cool or suave in the least, and even if Chris hasn't had the "I just slept with a guy" freakout yet, well he's going to have the "oh, fuck, this person is way too clingy" freakout any minute now and—

But if anything, Chris relaxes even more, and he smiles happily, kind of lights up like it’s Christmas morning and he’s gotten every present he wanted and more, and Zach is going to stop staring, really, he is, but this isn’t what’s supposed to happen, nothing is going according to script, although honestly, Zach likes this version a lot better.

He wants to ask if Chris understands what’s happening, because he sure as hell doesn’t, kind of feels like babbling nonsense, so he squeezes his lips shut to prevent that horror, and just . . . lies back down. Like everything is cool and Chris climbing back into bed with him is . . . normal. Ordinary.

Unbelievable.

Chris falls back asleep immediately, but Zach . . . he keeps touching the hand on his chest, traces the knuckles with his fingers, feels the weight of it on his skin. He’s filled to the brim with questions, but that will just have to wait till the morning, because although Zach totally has it in him to wake someone up in the middle of the night to satisfy his curiosity, he just wants to enjoy this right now, Chris’ breath against his shoulder, his hand against his heart.


End file.
